


Downfall

by spaceliquid



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual, Ritualistic Bonding, Spark Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhappy Ending, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceliquid/pseuds/spaceliquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his Lord High Protector, Sentinel Prime struggles with the pain of his severed sparkbond. So when he finds two abandoned hatchlings - spark twins, no less! - he decides to adopt them. They need him, and he needs them.</p><p>But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patch

**Author's Note:**

> Bayverse is already fucked up, so why not make it even more fucked up?
> 
> I took some concepts and ideas from the Bayverse-based comics, but this story's Cybertron and events are rather different from what is shown there. Consider it an alternate prequel, I suppose? 
> 
> The beginning is loosely based on [this wonderful doujinshi](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=43616274).

“Sentinel Prime! My lord!” The secretary’s voice is shaky, since he’s almost running, trying not to fall behind the much larger Prime. “I do not wish to question your decisions, but is it wise to go into the wilderness on your own, without a guard?”

Sentinel swallows a venomous remark, reminding himself that he has no right to snap at the poor mech. His secretary is just worried; they lost their Lord Protector recently, and they don’t want to lose their Prime as well.

However, Prime he might be, but he is also a warrior. He used to be a warframe before his ascension, and even though he had Proteus to fight for him, it didn’t mean Sentinel had forgotten how to hold a lance. In fact, he posed quite a challenge when they sparred…

Memories of Proteus make that aching emptiness in his spark gape even wider, and Sentinel clenches his dental plates. All he wants is to be left alone; to walk under the bottomless sky with no urgent matters or busy officials to pester him.

All he wants is some peace.

“I will be fine,” he utters in the most even tone he can manage. “I can defend myself, and I doubt any large beast would come so close to a city. I’ll be back in several hours.”

And before the secretary can articulate his objections, Sentinel transforms and drives off. Fortunately, an order of a Prime is still respected.

He drives and drives, until the walls of Iacon turn into a tiny fence in the distance. Only then does Sentinel return to his root mode and rises to his full height. He throws back his head, rolling his shoulders and flexing the stiff joints; harsh wind of the desert swishes around him, and the sunlight gleams on his dulled, dusty plating. It’s quiet here, quiet and serene, although this serenity is deceptive: raiders and wild beasts roam the plains, a vast untamed realm that is so easy to forget when one rules from a high tower behind the tall city walls, when one only travels by the roads that connect Cybertron’s great city-states.

But Sentinel is not afraid of the desert. He knows that he is the largest and the strongest creature here, and raider tribes avoid the mighty Iacon, the stronghold of the Primes.

The stronghold that will soon belong to a new Prime.

Sentinel sighs and sits down on a rock, his broad shoulders drooped – a sight none of his subordinates should ever see. Oh, Proteus, why did you have to lead that charge personally? There is no disgrace in commanding the troops from the base, where one can strategize and keep the head cool. But no, Proteus thought that he had to raise his soldiers’ spirits… And look how it ended.

Sentinel places a palm on his chest, wincing. The emptiness is always there, where the other half of his spark should be; eating at him, nagging, like a black hole threatening to suck in the remaining half. Sentinel knows how it will end. A destabilized bond will destabilize him as well. It will poison him, mess with his thoughts and emotions. Worst case scenario, it will drive him insane.

He needs to find a new Prime. Someone young and energetic to take over; it doesn’t matter that Sentinel himself isn’t old, it doesn’t matter that his will is strong and his mind is clear: he is a Prime without his Protector, a crippled half of a severed bond.

He hides his face in his hands, bent and weary like an old mech he isn’t.

Sentinel sits there in the same pose until all thoughts vanish and a blissful numbness subdues him. But he is a mature Cybertronian in his full power, and even grief can’t defeat him for long. He raises his head again, sees the walls of Iacon bathing in the soft evening light, stands up and drives again.

There is a low hill ridge a little to the north – remnants of an earthquake that happened long, long ago. The jagged edges of broken and raised metallic plates are softened by wind and sand’s work over time. Sentinel remembers those hills well; he used to come there in the days of his youth with femmes and mechs he wanted to impress. He used to come there with Proteus, too; they joked that a hot spot that was recently discovered there was the result of their couplings.

Sentinel chuckles despite the stab at his spark. What tremendous pride, to suggest that they somehow directed Primus’s hand. But now Proteus’s spark returned to Primus, and Sentinel finds solace in thinking that they, perhaps, left something more than just a memory on the face of Cybertron.

Sentinel transforms again as he nears the hills, and he walks along the ridge, listening to the howl of the wind and the rustle of the sand. The nests where the eggs used to grow are gone: the precious capsules were carefully plucked and taken to Iacon, and the hatchlings were numerous and healthy. Sentinel smiles in his facial decorations; this is something else he and Proteus will leave behind – a safe place for the new generations to grow and flourish.

It’s then when he hears something new: a whimper.

Sentinel stops, his brows furrowed. The sound doesn’t repeat for a while, but as he starts walking again he hears it one more time – definitely a whimper. Muffled, quiet – but distinct.

A couple of kliks of careful navigating among the dunes, and Sentinel finds the source: a small hole under a rocky overhang – more of a fissure, really. He goes down on one knee, and the low rays of the setting sun allow him to look inside.

It’s hard to make out the shivering ball of ragged bare metal at first, but then Sentinel finally realizes what he sees: two sparklings clinging to each other, small and dirty and terrified; a civilian frame and a warframe. Two pairs of dim optics peer at him – or rather, a pair of red optics and one blue (the other optic is gone).

The sparklings give out a panicked series of beeps when they see Sentinel, and the Prime bites his lip. They ought to come from the same batch, but how different they are from the well-fed, healthy hatchlings in the city! The warframe misses an arm, and Sentinel can see torn wires and a broken joint; the civilian frame’s missing optic is accompanied by teeth marks on his helm. Both are covered in grease and dust, both are clearly malnourished, both are shaking.

“You poor little ones,” Sentinel murmurs, sitting down on his knees. “Come; let’s take you to safety.” He pushes his hand into the fissure.

The sparklings’ reaction is instant: they scream in fear, scurrying to the farthest wall.

“Oh come on,” Sentinel grunts, trying to reach them. “I’m not gonna hurt you… Ow!” He pulls his arm back; four scratches on the side of his palm well with energon.

The warframe hisses at him, showing tiny fangs and flexing the claws on his only hand, although his entire frame is trembling.

“Aren’t you a grumpy one,” Sentinel says, but he’s more touched than angry. He steps back from the fissure and notices a dead body of a turbofox lying nearby. It looks drained of energon, but the corpse isn’t too old, or it would’ve been covered in sand. The turbofox has its throat torn and chewed, its hide is littered with scratches, and the size of its teeth would match the marks on the civilian sparkling’s helm.

“Grumpy _and_ brave,” Sentinel mutters, rising to his feet. He can’t reach the sparklings while they hide in their hole, and they obviously aren’t coming out on their own. He could break in and take them by force, but that would probably traumatize them beyond repair. They had enough of scary things in their short lives already.

They must also be very hungry. That turbofox couldn’t have enough energon to properly sustain two hatchlings for long.

Sentinel nods to himself as the idea forms in his head. Casting the last glance at the hole, he transforms and heads straight to the city; the sparklings survived until now, they will most likely survive another couple of hours.

***

Sentinel’s secretary stares at him in a funny way when his Prime returns only to grab a couple of sparkling-grade energon cubes and storms back to the desert, but Sentinel pays him no heed. The recent apathy is gone; he feels invigorated. Dust grits under his tires as he drives on his full-speed through the orange-colored plains.

Iacon stands too close to Cybertron’s pole, and the sun never goes down in this time of the year; but it still moves, and now the entrance to the hole where the sparklings hid is pitch black. Sentinel squats in front of it and listens – and yes, there is the faint rustle and rapid venting of two little frames. They’re there alright.

Sentinel takes a cube out of his subspace and cuts it open, letting the sweet scent of nutrient-rich energon spread. The rustle increases, and he can hear sniffing; three pale optics glimmer in the darkness of the hole with obvious interest, but the sparklings don’t move.

“Come on,” Sentinel coos, filling his voice with subsonic tones he heard the caretakers use. “It’s energon. Good, tasty energon. See?”

More rustling, some weak beeps. Sentinel smiles, expanding his EM field in the most non-threatening manner he can manage.

“Come on, you’re hungry, right? I have fuel!” He pours some liquid in his palm and pushes his hand into the fissure’s opening.

There is a burst of frightened clatter and clangs as the sparklings press their backs into the wall; the warframe hisses. Sentinel pulls his hand back, spilling the energon from his palm, and curses. He can’t blame the hatchlings for being afraid – so far since their birth everything around them was hostile, and the encounter with the turbofox couldn’t have possibly helped. But he needed to get these two out of their hideout.

Well, maybe he should deal with them like with wild turbofoxes. Such things aren’t done in a hurry.

Nodding to himself, Sentinel places the energon cube in front of the fissure, so that the hatchlings can see it, and walks away, making his steps loud. He hides behind a rock in the distance, where he can see the fissure but where he can’t be seen by the hatchlings’ underdeveloped optics. Sentinel finds a comfortable position and prepares to wait.

He has to wait for quite a long time. It’s almost midday when he finally spots some movement at the hole’s entrance. A small helm, colorless as all hatchlings’ plating is, peeks out of the fissure; one blue optic takes in the surroundings before focusing on the energon. When nothing bad happens, the hatchling crawls forward and stands up on his feet, causing a series of fearful clicks and squeaks from the unseen warframe.

Sentinel can’t help but smile. A true civilian frame – an explorer! Open to everything new and ready to venture into the unknown. And the hatchling’s joyful chirp when he tastes the energon is worth the long hours of waiting.

Finally the warframe joins his friend, stepping out into the sun and hurrying to the cube. Sentinel notices that he’s limping – apparently, the turbofox did more damage than the Prime initially thought. Both sparklings latch onto the cube, gulping down the energon like… No, not “like”. They _were_ starving in this desert, now Sentinel can see it clearly: thin armor, injuries untouched by self-repair, badly coordinated movements – all signs of malnourishment. They are small, too – but that could be the result of them being born later than their peers from the same hot spot. Perhaps that’s why the caretakers missed them when they gathered the eggs. Or maybe some dimwit forgot to collect their eggs, leaving them to fend for themselves.

The sparklings finish the cube in several kliks and hurry back to their shelter. Sentinel waits a little to give them time to calm down, and then walks back to the fissure to collect the empty cube.

“I have more where this came from,” he promises to the three wide optics staring at him from the darkness.

***

Finally there’s an accomplishment: the sparklings drink their energon with Sentinel in sight. He smiles as he watches them, noting that their injuries started to heal at last. Their growing frames burn fuel like compact power plants, but they’re clearly less ravenous compared to Sentinel’s first visits.

Today they don’t even scurry back to safety when they’re finished. Sentinel brought an extremely rich blend today, and the sparklings can only sigh in content as they lick the last drops from their fingers. For once, they look like their hunger is sated.

They don’t run when Sentinel comes close to them at last, just blink at him drowsily. He smiles at their faces that he already knows so well; it’s actually kind of surprising how fast he got attached to these little savages.

He even came up with names for them.

He leans down and scoops up the hatchlings into his arms. They’re warm and heavy with the energon they consumed, and they don’t even struggle much. The warframe tries to chew on his finger, but it seems more like an obligatory warning. The civilian frame whines at first, but as soon as he reaches the other hatchling, he calms down and curls up around him.

And then Sentinel notices it. He can sense their sparks now, and they beat in perfect unison – as do the tiny EM fields. In fact, it’s hard to tell where one EM field starts and the other ends, so similar they are to each other. Sentinel’s brows rise.

Spark twins. Who could’ve thought?

That void in Sentinel’s chest, that empty painful nothingness, slowly fills with warmth. Nothing will ever mend the wound of losing his Lord High Protector.

But it doesn’t mean Sentinel won’t be able to live on.

He pulls the dozing twins closer to his chest, right where it aches the most, and starts walking to the city.

***

“With the deepest regret and most sincere condolences I must report that a new Prime wasn’t discovered during our search.”

“Most unfortunate,” Sentinel says, and he barely cares to hold back the sarcasm. The priest just bows, too dense – or maybe too polite – to notice the Prime’s reaction. With a curt nod Sentinel dismisses him, not really in the mood to linger on this topic.

He commissions the ritual searches every year, as he is supposed to, and the High Priest with his court travel across Cybertron looking for a sign that would point to a person who is destined to become the new Prime, but it doesn’t mean Sentinel has to be _enthusiastic_ about it. The priests like to talk about ancient traditions and sacred laws, and some vorns ago Sentinel even believed them. But time has passed, and Sentinel rules Cybertron alone, without a Lord High Protector – quite successfully, he must say! There is no skies raining fire, no energon mines going dry, and it doesn’t seem that a Prime with a severed sparkbond becomes insane or unfitting to rule.

Sentinel walks out of the audience hall only to see a familiar blue helm perk as the young mech leaning on the wall spots him.

“Caretaker!” Optimus smiles, and Sentinel can’t help but smile in return. As always, a tight knot in his chest loosens at the sight of his ward. “Are you free?”

“I am now.” They start walking side by side, Sentinel slowing down his pace for the smaller mech’s sake.

“No sign of a new Prime yet? Sorry,” Optimus adds immediately. “I know you don’t like talking about it.”

“I don’t like talking with priests about it,” Sentinel replies with a chuckle, and it’s half-true: to be honest, he doesn’t like talking about it _period_ , but Optimus’s questions never irritate him. There is no doubt lurking behind them, no wish to see Sentinel relinquish his power; his ward is just curious.

There is a datapad in Optimus’s hands, too.

“Found a question you can’t answer on your own?” Sentinel gestures at the datapad.

“Um, no. Actually, I have a request.” Optimus’s blue optics light up – as they always do when he’s speaking about his passion. “I found some very interesting information in a text I’ve been deciphering, and I wanted to ask your permission to organize an expedition to Manganese Mountains. If I’m right about the coordinates, the excavations could give us some new understanding concerning the origins of the tribes who founded Iacon!”

“Sure,” Sentinel takes the datapad and signs it without even looking it through. He trusts Optimus… and some councilors even say Sentinel spoils him. But learning about their cultural heritage is what any civilized society should do, and they are lucky to have such dedicated young scientists as Optimus.

“And where is your brother?” Sentinel gives the datapad back to his ward. “Shouldn’t he be here, complaining about ‘wasting resources’ or demanding that I let him send an entire regiment with you?”

“Well, you know Megatron isn’t fond of archeology.” Optimus’s smile fades a little; it’s never pleasant when your vocation is deemed useless. “But he has the decency of not voicing it, now that I kicked his aft in our last spar.” And there is that smile again, brighter than ever. “Perhaps that’s why he’s not trying to force Ironhide to watch over me – he knows I can take care of myself.”

“Now that’s an improvement,” Sentinel chuckles. Megatron can be pretty hard to deal with if an idea got stuck in his mind.  “Very well, Optimus. Go, do your preparations. I know that’s what you want to do now, not talk with your old caretaker.”

“I love talking to you,” Optimus says with a sudden seriousness in his voice, making Sentinel’s spark skip a beat.

“Still, you better go,” he manages to utter, hoping that his vocalizer doesn’t glitch. “Have fun, my child.”

He watches Optimus’s back until the young mech disappears behind a turn. Now Sentinel does feel old, but this particular feeling is leaning to the sweet side of “bittersweet”. Finding these two sparklings all those years ago was probably the best thing that could happen to him. Primus took his sparkmate, but sent these twins instead, to occupy the place where Proteus once stood and bring warmth to Sentinel’s maimed spark that couldn’t keep warm on its own anymore. He never gave them to caretakers, taking them into his own household instead, and despite not having any experience with sparklings before, Sentinel would say he did rather well.

He is near his personal quarters when another voice calls for him.

“Caretaker.”

Sentinel doesn’t jump or flinch. He never ceases to marvel at how silent such a large mech could be, but he’s the Prime of Cybertron. He has more dignity and composure than that.

“Hello, Megatron.” He turns to his other ward and offers him a welcoming smile. “I wondered when you might show up. Too late, though; I already approved of Optimus’s request.”

“It’s not about that.” Megatron tries to remain stern, but there is a glint of amusement dancing in his optics. “Optimus is a big mech, if he wants to spend his life digging in the dirt, he’s gotta deal with it on his own.” His tone grows solemn again. “I need to talk to you – in private.”

Something in the way it is said pins Sentinel’s attention.

“Of course. My quarters, then?” There is no safer place on Cybertron.

“They will suffice.”

It’s strange to see Megatron’s tall, heavily armored silvery frame in his apartment. The twins haven’t come here often since they received their adult bodies; whenever they met, they met outside of Sentinel’s private space. This place was filled with memories – of Sentinel reading to his sparklings with them seated in his lap; of Optimus trying to reach the top bookshelves; of Megatron jumping on Sentinel’s berth. Megatron now could possibly hold his younger self in one hand.

He certainly would hit his head on the ceiling if he tried to jump on Sentinel’s berth.

“Well?” Sentinel sits down in his favorite chair. “What did you want to talk about?”

Megatron doesn’t sit – instead he starts pacing.

“It’s…” Wow, Sentinel has never seen his ward so concerned. “There are whispers, caretaker. A certain… group of mechs and femmes has been exchanging opinions about your rule. About your right to rule.” He stops to look directly into Sentinel’s optics. “They believe that you’ve been staying in power for too long. That, perhaps, there _was_ a new Prime, but you hid the information or even got rid of the candidate.” Megatron’s red optics narrow. “They speak that, perhaps, you need to be relieved of your power.”

A white flash blinds Sentinel. On its heels comes icy cold that freezes his insides, and only after the moment passes does Sentinel realize that he’s not cold – he’s _burning_ , and it takes a lot to subdue this rage.

“That’s… rather intimate information you have there,” he grinds out.

“I have contacts,” Megatron replies, and a face pops up in Sentinel’s mind – a sleek silvery grey mech with a spiky crest; Soundwave, was it? Megatron has always had a tendency to find creepy friends, ever by a warframe’s standards.

Megatron just watches him for a while, giving Sentinel time to come to terms with the news.

“They are delusional,” Sentinel says at last. “There was no new Prime. I admit that I’m not that thrilled about leaving my post, but I wouldn’t lie to my people about such a matter.”

“I know that, caretaker. But the problem stands. If we don’t do anything about it, that group might start speaking louder – and people might listen.”

Sentinel doesn’t answer, too overwhelmed to come up with a coherent reply.

“Do you want them to disappear?”

That question shakes Sentinel out of his stupor.

“What..?” He gawks at Megatron, not quite believing what he has just heard. But his ward’s face is determined.

“I can make them disappear, if you want.” He flexes his claws. “We can’t allow such lies to spread.”

It disturbs Sentinel – the confidence with which Megatron speaks, the implication of it – that he has resources to do such a thing, that he _would do_ such a thing for Sentinel…

It disturbs Sentinel how good that last notion feels.

“I… need to think it over.” He rises from his seat; his first intention is to place his hands on Megatron’s shoulders, but something stops him. He doesn’t really want to touch his ward.

“Thank you,” he says, and this, at least, sounds sincere. “For your vigilance… for telling me. I need to think it over.”

“Of course, caretaker.” Megatron gives him a respectful bow and leaves.

***

Optimus comes back from his expedition all scuffed and covered in dust from head to feet, but his engine is rumbling with exhilaration.

“We found texts! And inscriptions! Actual proto-Iaconian language! They had a glyph system!” he babbles as Megatron catches him in a plating-shattering hug and Sentinel gives him a softer, but just as loving embrace. Optimus continues to pour his discoveries on them as they move inside, but both his brother and his caretaker find it endearing.

“And how were you doing?” Optimus asks at last as his first excitement passes.

“Oh, we’ve been fine. Nothing special happened while you were away.” Sentinel exchanges short looks with Megatron and adds: “There were some strange disappearances; we investigated, and turned out we had some sort of an underground cult. Unfortunately, they retaliated with violence when they were found. Your brother tried to pacify them, but in the end none of the cultists survived.”

Optimus’s optics widen.

“And you call this ‘nothing special’?!”

“There were no losses on our side,” Megatron explains, squeezing Optimus’s hand. “Only some injured. And the disappearances stopped after that; Soundwave believes all culprits were destroyed.”

“You can read the newsfeed later, if you wish,” Sentinel interrupts. “Or ask your brother. But now I’m more interested in the results of your expedition.”

“And I’m more interested in getting you to the medic and to the washracks,” Megatron pinches Optimus’s antenna. “Look, you’re covered in scratches, and your paint is barely there. I like you more when you’re a colorful eyesore. Did you get in a fight?”

“Frag off, Megatron!” Optimus smacks his hand away, but he’s laughing again, and the claws around Sentinel’s spark loosen. “And yes, I did get into a fight. A pack of magnawolves attacked us, but we sent them fleeing. One of them almost chopped my antenna off.” He rubs the side of his helm. “It’s not dangerous, though; I just need some parts replaced.”

“Let me see.” Sentinel walks to him and takes his helm in his hands, tilting it to the side. “Yes, doesn’t look dangerous, but you should still go see a proper med…” His voice trails off.

The paint is completely gone from the round base of Optimus’s left antenna, and the magnawolf tore the protective shell off. And there, on the edge of the circle, where the bare protoform shows, is an engraving – a row of glyphs, too complex, too sacred to be a work of a body artist.

No body artist would do an engraving on a protoform – the protometal would heal it.

“Optimus…” Sentinel’s voice is hoarse. “Where did you get this engraving?”

“What engraving?” Optimus’s EM field betrays no lies, ho hidden agenda – just pure surprise and confusion.

Megatron steps closer as well and squints at the glyphs.

“Never seen this one before,” he mutters. “What do they mean?”

“They mean…” Sentinel’s hands are trembling, and he probably hurts Optimus with how his fingers dig into his plating, but he can’t control them, can’t think straight. “They mean ‘ _Prime_ ’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had all the cute stuff. Next time it gets darker.


	2. Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains non-consensual father-child incest and extremely dubiously consensual brother-brother incest.

Prime.

There came a new Prime.

Optimus, his dear Optimus, whom Sentinel remembers as a squeaky little sparkling, is to become the new Prime.

It all goes like in a dream: the report, the verification by the priests (Sentinel gets a fit of nausea every time he recalls the High Priest’s smug face), the official announcement and the celebration… Cybertron is rejoicing, but Sentinel sits in his quarters alone, a full goblet of high grade forgotten in his hands.

He can’t run away from fate, can he?

 _They believe that you’ve been staying in power for too long,_ Megatron’s voice resounds in his head. _That, perhaps, there was a new Prime, but you hid the information or even got rid of the candidate._

The goblet creaks in Sentinel’s grip. No; no, that was a different situation! There _was_ no candidate back then, so Sentinel remained the Prime. As soon as his heir was discovered, he informed his people and recognized Optimus as their new ruler. He obeyed the tradition and did as he ought to.

But Optimus is so young! Sentinel sensed the turmoil in his EM field as they stood at the open terrace before the Council Hall, the crowd roaring below them. Optimus is young and inexperienced, he has no idea how to rule a nation, he is an _archeologist!_ How can Sentinel just step back and let the burden of governing Cybertron fall onto his ward’s shoulders? For Optimus and Cybertron’s sake, the child needs guidance! He can’t be left to do it alone!

 _Oh, but he won’t be alone_ , a different voice whispers. A Prime doesn’t rule alone; he needs his Lord High Protector. Before Optimus can take over properly, he’ll need to choose a co-ruler.

He’ll choose a co-ruler to form a sparkbond with him, and some other mech will be guiding Optimus through his office. Influencing his decisions. Who knows whom Optimus will choose!

No. Sentinel shakes his head, trying to chase away the suffocating gust of fury. No; Optimus is his sparkling - not by creation, but his sparkling nevertheless! He is smart and responsible, Sentinel has to trust his choice. He’ll probably choose someone wise and experienced, maybe even ask Sentinel for advice (but whom can Sentinel trust with such a task?)…

Or he will choose someone as young as Optimus himself. He will have to sparkbond with this person, after all, and won’t Optimus prefer to live his life side by side with a peer? With a friend – or a loved one?

Dread makes energon run cold in Sentinel’s veins. Is Optimus in love with someone? Does he have a femme or a mech whose kisses he steals when nobody can see them?

That – that is dangerous. People in love are foolish. Optimus will listen to his Lord High Protector and move on and stop coming to Sentinel for advice…

_If Sentinel doesn’t have the Lord High Protector’s devotion as well._

The thought starts forming in his head – a timid, uncertain little thought, but it glows so bright, so alluring. Yes, this solution is a little bit… radical, and nobody has ever considered such a thing…

But nobody has ever considered a Prime ruling alone as well, and it turned out more than fine in the end.

Sentinel puts the untouched goblet on the table and leans back in the chair, pondering.

But deep in his spark he knows that he has already made the decision.

***

“The burden of Primacy is enormous, and you won’t be able to carry it alone, my child.” Sentinel steeples his fingers, studying both of his wards, who are sitting across the desk. “You must choose a Lord High Protector.”

“I know, caretaker.” Optimus lets his gaze dart to the floor, and Sentinel makes a mental note: he’ll have to coach Optimus in the art of self-control. A Prime shouldn’t let his vulnerability or confusion show. “I just need a little time. I can’t afford making a wrong choice.”

“Indeed.” Sentinel nods. “And this is why I came up with a solution for you.” He turns to his second child. “Megatron should be your Lord High Protector.”

The twins’ jaws drop in unison, their EM fields (not as similar as they were once, but still so easily intertwining) flare in shock.

“What?”

“But…”

“But I’m supposed to bond with my Protector, body and spark!” Optimus squirms in his seat, face betraying his disgust. Yes, lessons on emotion control are definitely required…

“He’s my brother!” Megatron doesn’t even bother hiding his aversion. “We can’t do that!”

“We don’t want to do that!”

Ah, there it is. They stopped speaking of themselves as one being long ago, but sometimes, in the moments of distress or euphoria, these old speech patterns resurface. Even better.

“Yes, I can understand your surprise, and I agree that my suggestion is unconventional, but I firmly believe this will be the best option for Cybertron.” Sentinel smiles over his clasped hands. “You are twins, you are already closer to each other than anyone. Did you hear yourselves just now? Each of you is able to perfectly express what both of you feel, and you are loyal to each other. Besides,” this time Sentinel makes sure to address Megatron directly, even though he technically speaks to Optimus, “Megatron has finished the Military Academy with the best scores; he is a powerful warrior and a capable commander. I am sure that he will make an excellent Lord High Protector.”

Megatron is obviously flattered, but there is still an air of uncertainty about both of them.

“But it’s… wrong.” Optimus bites his lip, his antennas moving back in forth. “I know Megatron would make a great Protector, I would recommend him instantly if it was someone else who had been chosen as a Prime!”

“Yeah,” Megatron agrees, “this sounds… depraved. I don’t think I will ever be able to frag Optimus.”

Sentinel has to restrain a frustrated howl. Two stubborn idiots! They are being offered the highest offices on Cybertron – and they reject them! Reject the titles that practically fell to them by a flick of fate’s hand, the same fate that robbed Sentinel of _his_ title! He wanted to be the Prime, he’d even take a new Protector if he was allowed, but he has to lose it all and _beg_ his wards to accept that power?!

A low throaty growl escapes him, and he smashes his hands down on the table.

“You will cease this insolence right now!” Oh, to this they react – freezing in their seats and staring at him with wide optics. “For now I am still the Prime of Cybertron, and I will not allow my planet to fall into the Pits because of some impudent children’s caprices! You,” he glares at Optimus, “are to be a Prime. And this means you make sacrifices for the good of your people. And you,” he switches his attention to Megatron, “I’m giving you the post of Lord High Protector – a chance to stand as high as your twin. Do you want it?”

“I…” Megatron hesitates, but Sentinel can see the conflict in his optics. “Yes,” he finally mutters, and that’s all Sentinel wants to hear.

“Then it’s decided,” he declares. The finality in his voice does its work: the twins’ shoulders slump, and they nod.

“Yes, caretaker.”

Sentinel sinks back into his chair and allows himself a victorious smirk. Relieved of his title he might be, but he still holds some power on Cybertron.

That’s a pleasant thing to realize.

***

Optimus’s apartment is dark.

A long time has passed since they shared quarters, but it’s some sort of an instinct: when in anguish, they seek each other out and cling to each other in the security of their room. The lack of light is soothing; it promises safety.

But there is no place on Cybertron where its rulers can hide from their duties.

“Do we need to do it?” Optimus is whispering, but the sound seems obscenely loud. “They can’t force us, can they?”

“I’m afraid they can,” Megatron rumbles, and Optimus’s first reaction is anger. Why does Megatron always have to be so blunt? Can’t he offer comfort, like any sane mech would?

But the anger passes as quick as it appears; Megatron’s EM field is wrapped around his, and their emotions are identical. There is some comfort in this – in knowing that his brother feels the same, that they are in this together. 

“Why was I chosen to be a Prime?” Optimus exclaims, unable to contain himself anymore.

“Why indeed,” Megatron murmurs, and Optimus stiffens as he senses something new in his brother’s field: jealousy?

“I didn’t want it,” he says softly, tracing the curves of Megatron’s back armor. “I didn’t ask for it. You know that, right?”

Megatron makes a heavy ex-vent, and his frame relaxes.

“I do,” he admits. “Besides, if I were chosen to be a Prime, caretaker would’ve probably appointed you as my Lord High Protector, and how dumb would that be?”

“Yeah.” Optimus lets out a joyless chuckle. He could fight, but an archaeologist turned military leader? That is stupid.

“Do you think… that, perhaps, we can train ourselves?” he suggests. “Not to like it, but maybe to tolerate it?” His hand slides up Megatron’s arm to lie on his cheek. “There will be people there to witness our joining. I don’t want my first time with my bonded to be like that.”

Megatron doesn’t reply, just locks gazes with him. Red and blue light from their optics glints on the sharp angles of their faceplates – the only illumination in the room.

They move closer – slowly, inch by inch – never breaking eye contact, probing, checking the other’s reaction. Optimus’s hand on Megatron’s cheek trembles, Megatron’s claws dig into the seams on Optimus’s shoulder, but neither backs away. They can’t back away; their future is looming over them.

The first touch is a gentle nuzzle – not unlike those they gave each other in their childhood. Optimus moves for a kiss, only to discover that they don’t fit well: his more elaborate lip plates press to the space above Megatron’s fangs. They fumble and tilt their heads, trying to find a comfortable angle, but nothing about it is comfortable. Finally Megatron shuts his optics and opens his mouth, letting his glossa brush against Optimus’s lip plates, and Optimus answers, welcoming him. The tips of their tongues meet, warm breaths mix between them, Megatron’s hand ventures lower to the small of Optimus’s back, Optimus strokes his twin’s abdominal plating…

And then they both recoil, shuddering and unable to look at each other.

“I… I can’t do it.” Optimus’s voice breaks up. “I can’t.”

Megatron doesn’t say anything, but Optimus is thankful for that. His brother is not good at consoling, and “we’ll have to” is not something he wishes to hear right now.

Megatron wraps his arms around him but doesn’t pull him closer, and Optimus places his hands on Megatron’s chest – a warding gesture instead of a hug. They poignantly stare in opposite directions, but soon let go of each other and just sit side by side. Even the simple touches are tainted now.

Their chronometers tick, counting the fleeing seconds.

***

The official ceremony is grand and pompous, as it should be. Optimus and Megatron’s frames are heavy with decorations, capes of fine glimmering plates covering their backs, crystal pendants hanging from the finials of their helms. They join hands to the cheers of the crowd and the crackles of fireworks, and even the most skeptical mechs are swept away by the overall celebratory mood. So what if the new Prime and Lord High Protector are twins? The young Prime is modest and noble, and surely there is no one better to guard Cybertron’s people than the Defense Force’s brightest officer. Perhaps this is how Primus wants it; perhaps it’s his will that guided Optimus Prime’s choice.

The onlookers still squirm and giggle to mask their uneasiness when the priests declare that the time for the ceremony’s consummation has come. Usually everyone’s yearning for raunchy details, but today it’s discussed in whispers, with uncertain scowls and vague metaphors. Nobody knows what to think – and most of all the freshly appointed rulers themselves.

They’re led into the berthroom of their new apartment by the High Priest and his court, but then, to the twins’ confusion, the clerics bow to them and exit, leaving only their caretaker behind.

Sentinel smiles at them.

“I know it’s hard for you,” he explains, “even without witnesses. So I persuaded the High Priest that I should watch over you alone. After all, my word as the previous Prime is more than enough to confirm the consummation.”

His smile broadens when he sees how his children sigh in relief.

“Thank you, caretaker,” Optimus says, and Megatron nods. They pause, exchanging short glances, before Optimus continues: “Does it mean that we don’t have to..?”

“I’m afraid no, my child.” Sentinel shakes his head. “It is the law. You must join sparks and bodies to ensure your unity. The sooner you get used to it, the better, for you’ll have to interface quite often.” He dims his optics for a moment, taken by the nostalgia. He and Proteus had to ‘face a lot before their sparks properly synchronized. A sparkbond is perilous, something ordinary Cybertronians aren’t allowed to create – and, to be honest, few want to create. Who would willingly open their very life force to another, who would submit to the shackles that tie you to one person forever, that doom you to an eternity of pain after your bonded dies? Simple interface is much safer.

Yet there are not many things that can compare to that feeling of completion when two are merged into one.

They’ll learn to like it.

“Can we at least skip interfacing?” Optimus asks again, and Sentinel has to suppress the urge to slap him. “I mean, if the goal is to merge sparks…”

“Sparkmerges are dangerous, Optimus.” Patience, Sentinel, patience. Just be reasonable with him. “If you don’t create an additional outlet for the energy, it can damage your systems. Thanks to full interface the energy will cycle through you without doing any harm. In fact, it’ll just strengthen your bond. The ancients weren’t stupid when they established these rituals. Now,” Sentinel claps his hands. “Put those decorations off and get on the berth. I’ll tell you what to do if you make a mistake.”

His wards avoid each other’s optics as they start to unclasp the capes and take off the jeweled pendants. Their movements are slow and unsure, and it lasts too long for Sentinel’s taste. He starts tapping his foot, his mouth tightening; what is it with them? Don’t they understand what honor it is to receive the most sacred posts on Cybertron? What tremendous responsibility now rests on their shoulders? They can’t act like stubborn sparklings anymore!

Finally they sit down on the berth facing each other, each easing back onto the haunches, hands on their knees. Neither is reaching to touch the other, and this hesitance drives Sentinel mad. Do they think _he_ likes to be here? Likes watching two foolish children – _his own children!_ – take his post from him?

“Begin,” Sentinel utters through clenched dental plates.

They glance at him, hunted, yet hesitate still. Optimus’s hand rises from his lap – but stops in the air and retreats. His blue optics are pleading, and Sentinel hates it.

“Megatron, lay your brother on his back and get between his legs,” he orders, this time unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. At least the warframe is less likely to stall.

Megatron contemplates his caretaker for a second – and then answers:

“No.”

Sentinel reels, this word hitting him like a hammer.

_“No?”_

“Optimus doesn’t want it. I don’t want it either.” Megatron’s face is stern, defiant. “We are not doing this.”

Sentinel’s vents are obnoxiously loud as he strives to keep his cool. He turns to Optimus for support – and sees the same unwillingness. Optimus does flinch under his glare, but then he glances at Megatron and says nothing.

It hurts more than Sentinel could expect. Optimus too? Optimus defies him too? The moment they get their titles they lose all respect for their caretaker?

“This is not a game.” Sentinel growls as he approaches the berth. “You will do as you are told!”

“Isn’t Optimus the new Prime? Am I not the Lord High Protector?” Megatron’s optics narrow; he is testing. He is testing his new power!  “We can do as we wish.”

Sentinel’s engine roars.

“No ruler is above the laws!” he yells, looming over the berth. He raised them! He saved their lives and cared for them and gave them these posts, and this is how they repay him?! “I was the Prime before you two were even born!”

“Caretaker..!” Optimus moves between him and Megatron, obviously distressed, obviously meaning to say something, but Sentinel pays no attention to him; all he sees is the challenge in Megatron’s optics, and the old warframe instincts reawaken. His body might have been reformatted to fit his civil office, but his programming is still there!

Sentinel surges forward, and his spark heats up in triumph as those red optics dilate in shock. Megatron might be younger, but Sentinel is more experienced, and their frames are roughly the same size. Sentinel shoves Megatron down on his face, pressing his head into the padding, and rests his entire weight on the silvery back, pinning him.

“You will obey me!” he hisses, free hand fumbling with Megatron’s interface panel. He sees those sharp claws tear the padding, and some part of Sentinel’s mind notes that Megatron doesn’t want to hurt Sentinel for real – or he’d be using those claws on him instead of simply trying to throw him off. But Sentinel doesn’t care, doesn’t _want_ to care – it just gives him an advantage.

“I am you Prime,” he snarls, finally finding the panel locks and snapping them. “ _You_ serve _me!_ ”

An image of Proteus flashes through his mind – Lord High Protector, _his_ Lord High Protector, welcoming him, bending over for him – and Sentinel groans at the pain in his spark; he needs him so much! Blinded and deafened by the rush of energon in his veins, he senses his spike pressurizing and pushes into the heated body underneath him.

Megatron cries out, struggling for real this time, but Sentinel grabs his wrists and yanks them behind Megatron’s back in an armlock. He slams into the tight valve, feeling it contract around him, as if trying to force him out – and he rams his spike even harder, growling. Break the resistance, take what is his, he needs it so much, missed it so much!

It takes only several rough, uneven thrusts for Sentinel to spill himself, shuddering and venting loudly. But the overload brings him no satisfaction; his frame feels heavy and steaming, his spark is swirling in its casing, scorching hot, reaching for someone who should be there but isn’t.

The red haze dissipates a little before his optics, and he spots Optimus there, staring at him in horror.

“You… get over here.” Sentinel’s voice is husky. “Spread your legs.”

Optimus’s motions are hasty, and some nasty voice in Sentinel’s head whispers that he did the right thing – look how compliant this rebellious new Prime has become! In a couple of seconds Optimus is lying on his back, thighs wide open and interface panel retracted.

“Here, I’m ready!” Optimus is begging. “Please, just stop!”

Sentinel grunts, pulling out of Megatron’s spasming valve, and shoves him forward.

“Come on,” he rasps. “Do I need to put your spike into your brother myself?”

Megatron shivers and tries to move, but it’s clumsy and weak, since Sentinel still has his wrists in a lock. Optimus reacts first: he wiggles down the berth, until he’s half underneath his twin, and throws one arm around his neck. Optimus’s other hand finds Megatron’s spike and guides it into his valve; Sentinel can’t see it from his position, but he can see how Optimus’s back arches as he angles his hips, and how Optimus bites his lip, faceplates contorted in discomfort.

Sentinel gives them a short moment to adjust, but he has no more patience for his unruly wards. They really disappointed him today.

“Move,” he orders, grabbing Megatron’s hip with his free hand, and Megatron obeys. He doesn’t make a sound, and his face is hidden from Sentinel – it’s burrowed into the padding next to Optimus’s head – but Optimus’s face is clear in his sight, and this calms him down somehow. The young Prime’s optics are shut, both hands are wrapped around Megatron’s shoulders now, fingers clutching at the dorsal armor, and little sounds that escape his lips are not the sounds of pleasure.

Sentinel frowns, the reality finally catching up with him. No, this won’t do; they have to overload if they are to form the bond. Fortunately, a spark merge is usually enough to trigger one, even if physical pleasure cannot be achieved.

“Open your spark chambers,” he commands. It causes a fearful glance from Optimus, but, to Sentinel’s satisfaction, neither of them dares to object. Sentinel pulls Megatron back a little to give them space, and blue light fills the berthroom, almost blinding at its source between his children’s chests. Sentinel just admires it for a while, bathing in nostalgia, but then shakes the memories off and pushes Megatron down again.

This time both of them cry out, Megatron’s hoarse groan mixing with Optimus’s deep baritone. They lean into each other, EM fields exploding with energy; it’s raging around Sentinel, teasing him with sensations that he once knew but couldn’t have anymore, and he can only watch how the twins shake and tremble, clinging to each other, how electric bolts dance on their plating as their overloads take them.

Their bond is forming – and Sentinel is not part of it.

At last the blue light fades, and the twins’ bodies go limp. Their chest armor closes with a distinct click. Sentinel lets go of Megatron’s wrists, suddenly feeling cold, colder than ever before. His depressurized spike is stained with energon, and Sentinel hurries to hide it behind his panel. He taught his foolish wards a lesson, but it didn’t soothe him.

There are two of them, and he is alone.

He looks back at his children. Optimus’s optics are online again, and Megatron has shifted, embracing Optimus with his freed arms.

Otherwise they haven’t moved or made a sound.

Sentinel sighs, but what’s done is done. If anything, they taught him an important lesson as well. He stands up, cleans himself with the corner of a blanket, and addresses his children again.

“You two are clearly incapable of ruling on your own yet.” Sentinel’s voice is soft once more, as it used to be when he tucked them in at night many years ago. “You will need more mentoring.”

He walks to the exit, but stops right before it and looks back.

“It’s for your own good,” he adds, his tone gentle. Then he opens the door and leaves.


	3. Freefall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Megatron being brainwashed is canon. See the _Defiance_ comics for details.

“Cliffjumper?” The secretary stands up from his seat when Sentinel appears at the doorstep. “Why haven’t I received the construction plans for Iacon’s docks yet?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Lord Regent, but the plans have already been validated by Optimus Prime. Do you want a copy?”

“…No.” Sentinel manages to conceal the surge of anger; no need to show emotions in front of subordinates. “Please inform me of such things next time.”

“Yes, Lord Regent.”

Sentinel tightens his mouth and retreats back to his office. The grudge simmers in his stomach like a pool of acid.

These are the words he is hearing more and more often lately: _“The law has been approved by Optimus Prime.” “This regiment has been moved to Tarn by the order of Lord High Protector.”_

_“Signed by Optimus Prime.” “Lord High Protector’s command.”_

And the way these bots are looking at him – with a certain tinge of pity, like they don’t want to offend him… Like he is an old pile of cogs ready for a scrapheap!

Sentinel’s fist slams onto the tabletop as he drops into his chair, and it takes all of his willpower not to bellow in despair. He probably should be proud of his wards – after all, this is what he created the title of Lord Regent for (at least officially): to show the way and teach his young and inexperienced children the art of governing the planet. Their growing abilities to solve complicated problems on their own are a testament to his wisdom and mastery as a mentor.

And now they are taking over, stealing new responsibilities from him with every day, leaving him to rust in his chair like a revered but useless relic!

Power is slipping through Sentinel’s fingers, and he can’t do anything about it.

Oh, they are respectful with him, of course, always so polite! But Sentinel notices it – those looks they are exchanging behind his back, soundless conversations, unspoken agreements. They have a bond which Sentinel is cut off from.

Optimus is somewhat better, more obedient to his caretaker – perhaps due to his civilian nature. When they actually speak with each other, walking in the crystal garden around the Temple of the Allspark, Sentinel can almost imagine that they are transported to the past, and he is once more with his little ward, bright and curious and hungry for knowledge that only Sentinel can provide.

But Megatron… Sentinel shudders. Where he succeeded with Optimus, he failed with Megatron. Wherever Sentinel walks, those red optics are following him; he can feel their scald on his plating even when Lord High Protector is not around. Megatron watches him in silence, bows in his presence – and goes to mingle with those friends of his, those creeps he surrounds himself with: the arrogant Seeker, the one-eyed scientist, the masked mech with a synthesized voice. What do they do in those meetings of theirs? Conspire, no doubt!

Megatron has no qualms about destroying those he deems a threat, Sentinel knows it better than anyone. And so he steps back, giving up his ground inch by inch, allowing his children to take what is his, and he hates himself for it.

Maybe it is time for him to retire. Sentinel doesn’t know how it happened, but he lost his support. The people of Cybertron forgot everything he had done for them; they look at Optimus and Megatron for guidance now.

Perhaps it is time for Sentinel to admit defeat.

***

Moans and sweet nothings that usually accompany the joining of lovers are never heard in this room; the couplings of Optimus Prime and Lord High Protector Megatron are done in silence. They never meet each other’s optics, too: when they sit on their berth, Optimus in Megatron’s lap, bodies and sparks merged, each puts his head on the other’s shoulder to avoid seeing his brother’s face.

Optimus learned that it’s easier when it’s done as a ritual, as impersonally as possible. But this particular ritual involves him opening his spark to his twin, so it’s hard to distance himself from the intimacy. It’s also annoying that Optimus always has to offer his valve; he would’ve liked to ‘face his brother for a change, but before every merge he pushes this thought as far from him consciousness as he can. He understands why Megatron never lets him near his valve, and Optimus is ready to sacrifice his selfish desires for his brother’s comfort. Doesn’t help to soothe the everyday annoyances, though.

Optimus hates these merges; they are supposed to bring the ruling pair closer together, but all they do is driving them further apart.

The overload comes, tiresome and unsatisfying, and they release each other as soon as it passes. With a hiss of hydraulics their spark chambers close.

“I’m going away for a while,” Megatron says as they clean themselves up. Optimus glances at him, but his brother is concentrated on scrubbing blue paint transfers off his thigh armor. “Want to inspect the outposts near Eshems Nebula.”

“Is it because of recent skirmishes?” Optimus frowns. “Megatron, if you’re planning to do something drastic – don’t. We don’t want a war.”

“What about the attackers?” Megatron turns to face him. “What if they want a war?”

“Then they will have to reveal their intentions before we retaliate.”

“I will not endanger Cybertron.”

“And I will not tolerate aggression on our part!” Optimus straightens his back; he is smaller than Megatron, but he can be just as imposing.

“I believe this is not your right to decide.” Megatron leans down to him – something he knows Optimus hates. “If I remember correctly, _I_ am Lord High Protector; I choose how to lead our armies.”

“And I am your Prime,” Optimus growls. “Which means that _you_ serve _me_.”

He realizes his mistake when Megatron’s optics widen – and then narrow back, dark like two smoldering embers.

“I see that your private talks with Sentinel didn’t go to waste,” he hisses, claws clenching and unclenching. "No wonder our mentor likes you so much.”

Optimus tries to catch him before he leaves, to say something that would put out the fire before it spreads, but Megatron doesn’t want to listen.

“Go dig in your dirt, Optimus Prime,” he says when they reach the open terrace, and leaps into the air, transforming. “Leave reaching for the stars to me.”

***

Optimus does go back to “digging in the dirt”, as Megatron so graciously put it; he never stopped loving archeology. But it’s his love of archeology that brings forth Cybertron’s doom.

The artifact his team digs out is surely intriguing, but the energy it emanates is unsettling – as is the weird symbol of a triangular-shaped face on it. It is connected to old legends of the ancient Primes and their fallen brother. Optimus tries to explain it to Megatron when he comes back from his trip, but Megatron is tired and angry and worried; the situation at the borders is worse than he suspected, and Starscream returned from his last patrol injured. Optimus’s stories of strange yet potent energy readings attract his attention.

He doesn’t have time to study it, though, because Megatron’s worst fears come true: Cybertron is under attack. He curses Optimus Prime as he leads his warriors into battle.

Behind the mirror surface of the artifact, chained in the prison made by his brothers, the Fallen stirs, for he senses what he’s been waiting for: a key for his return.

A chance for escape, a chance for revenge.

He calls, and Megatron comes to him soon enough – wounded and desperate, searching for the energy of the artifact. The Fallen lets his energy flow, healing the wounds; his invisible hands touch the young mech’s mind, soaking in his anguish and fears, and the Fallen whispers.

_Come to me, child. Become my apprentice, and I shall share my power with you. Together we will free our homeworld from the stench of the Primes, and after that… We will make sure there are no enemies in the galaxy that can harm Cybertron._

It’s not much that he has to tweak. The Fallen smiles; the boy figured it all out on his own.

He will be a perfect tool.

When Optimus meets Megatron again, it seems like his brother has gone mad. The attackers are repelled, but Megatron doesn’t stop at that: a triangular symbol is branded on his plating, and he speaks of death and conquest. Optimus goes to Sentinel for advice, but the old mech just shakes his head.

“Do not ask what you’ve done wrong, my child,” he says. “Perhaps there was something evil about him from the start.”

In the long vorns that follow, as he wages war against his brother, Optimus starts to wonder if Sentinel was right.

***

Earth weather isn’t that extreme, but the sheer amount of organic particles it spreads is disgusting – not to mention harmful to delicate inner circuitry. Megatron hates this planet, hates its inhabitants that allied themselves with Autobots and attack him with weapons they reverse-engineered from _his_ body while he was helpless, unable to throw off the tiny creatures dissecting him like a lab animal… But most of all he hates the memories.

The Fallen’s death left him disoriented, and he’s still reeling. It’s not that he wasn’t aware before, no; but it seems that only now the realization has finally hit: Cybertron is a wasteland, they’ve been at war for millions of years, there is no energon to support the hatchlings…

And he remembers rage. Blazing, devastating rage searing him from the inside, clouding his mind. Starscream is still cowering in his presence, twitchy, subservient, and it’s hard to look him in the optic after those beatings his Second didn’t deserve. Megatron snaps at him and tells him to shut up, if only to avoid being reminded of it.

He has to wear a cloth to protect his injured head, for they have no medic to heal it. He has to take an Earth-based, ground altmode, for there is not enough resources for flight. There are barely enough resources to feed the hatchlings! Those that are left, that is. But they are survivors, these ones, and a crooked smile appears on Megatron’s face when he feeds them. Memories hit him again – memories of how he carelessly hurt the unhatched eggs in his wrath, the importance of life inside them not registering in his feverish processor – and Megatron pushes these memories away too.

Shame. Shame is his constant companion now, haunting him, plaguing him like the rust infection that plagues his open wound. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so… irrationally?

Optimus’s face flashed before his optics: dazed and pleading – in the beginning of their war; sad and resigned – later; cold, furious and determined – now.

Megatron doesn’t want to think about Optimus.

He concentrates on his duties instead; specific goals, those he can work for. He might’ve fought in the war as the Decepticon leader, but he is still Cybertron’s Lord High Protector. All he had done he had done to help Cybertron. And restoring Cybertron is what he should be doing now.

It’s easier this way.

The remnants of past rage start boiling when he remembers the recent events – the Allspark destroyed by the human boy per Optimus’s instruction; the Energon Harvester – destroyed by humans and Autobots. Every single exit blocked, how would they escape their doom now, where will they find sustenance for the last generation of their race?

The hatchlings start to wriggle and beep loudly, sensing the turmoil in their caretaker’s EM field, and Megatron forcefully calms it down, his engine humming.

“Hush, little ones,” he murmurs, stroking the hatchlings with the back of a claw. “It will be fine.”

It does soothe them, and they curl up in a pile again, chirping softly.

Megatron watches them, mulling over the possibilities. There is one – a plan he set in motion long ago, a plan that annoyed him then and repulses him now. The idea of appearing before Sentinel like this – weak, humiliated – makes him want to purge his tanks. He knows how Sentinel will look at him – the least favored child, a failure, defiant Lord High Protector who wanted to do things his way and brought only ruin…

_You should’ve obeyed,_ Sentinel’s voice rustles in his head. _I am your Prime; **you** serve **me**._

_You serve me,_ Optimus’s voice echoes.

Megatron clenches his dental plates to hold back the bile, but there is nothing he can do now. He has lost, he is at rock bottom.

Cybertron’s future is worth all sacrifices. And if Megatron must sacrifice his pride…

So be it.

***

Foolish, they are foolish, these wayward children of his. Sentinel cursed them a number of times during the war, cursed Optimus for being so soft, cursed Megatron for being so stubborn. He should’ve never given them power. If he just stayed in office, all of this could’ve been avoided! Cybertron would have been enjoying its Golden Age now, shining and prosperous.

Yet here they are, on a world far from their own, lost, tangled in relations with this world’s governments – and still fighting each other! The Allspark is lost, the Energon Harvester is gone, and it was Optimus who caused this! Optimus, whom Sentinel always considered the sensible one! Optimus chose these primitive organic creatures over his own planet!

Fools. Traitors. Both of them, both of them must pay for what they did. But Sentinel reins himself in, pushing his righteous wrath aside; it’s not the time for it. First, he must take care of Cybertron – since he’s the only one who can do it. Who still remembers his responsibility.

The true Prime.

He has to be civil and calm with Optimus, and he is. He has to work with Megatron, and he does. Strange detachment comes over him, and finally Sentinel understands what he should’ve understood long ago: they are his tools. He believed that he owed his children something, the duty of care and guidance, but now he sees the truth: a Prime must be free from attachments. Attachments lead to false decisions, lead to _this_.

Sentinel will restore Cybertron and take it to the glorious future it deserves – under the wise leadership of the one true Prime.

All who stand in his way shall perish.

***

Optimus believes in the importance of love; it’s his love for his comrades that helps him to keep going, yet every new day tries this belief. Friends fall under the laser fire, their frames fading to gunmetal grey, allies betray, and enemies prove to be viler than Optimus’s worst expectations.

He learns to live with it – and he learns _from_ it. He is the Prime; he can’t allow faltering. So he learns the importance of retreating, even if dozens of Autobots gave their lives for a victory. He learns to be merciless, because if he wavers before his enemies, they all will die.  He learns to change when reality demands it.

Optimus learns to let go.

Cybertron is the first part of his spark that he snuffs out with his own hands. Their planet is dead; there is no sense in fighting over a desolated husk, so Optimus calls back his Autobots and says farewell to his homeworld. They are exiles from now on, a people with no land to call theirs, but Optimus leads his Autobots on. They will find a new home among the stars, he has to believe in it.

The Allspark is the next tribute Optimus makes, but letting go of it is… easier. There is no hope for their race, Optimus knows that; sometimes he thinks that deep inside the other Autobots know it too. So he sacrifices the Allspark to save Earth, and for a short while, his mind is at peace. There is no hope for Cybertronians, but humans – humans are young and innocent. Their cruelty is the cruelty of a child (at least this is what Optimus tells himself), and they have nothing to do with Cybertronians’ civil war.

Earth is their home now. And Prime’s duty is to look after his homeworld.

If only the humans understood this! But somehow they keep defying him, as if Optimus ever did anything but take care of them!

It takes harsh measures to show the humans that they need the Autobots.

And Optimus… Optimus needs _them_.

When Sentinel appears before him again, for one brief moment Optimus hopes that he will finally be free. Sentinel is wise, Sentinel is old, Sentinel will be able to lead Cybertronians back to glory!

Sentinel will set him free from this burden.

Alas, Sentinel refuses the Matrix – and then betrays him. Optimus wants to scream, to smash everything around him – but his spark is cold and numb. After all, this is nothing new, isn’t it? Optimus has been battling his twin brother for ages, so why shouldn’t he battle his mentor? The pain of betrayal will become his armor.

_Goodbye, caretaker,_ Optimus says in his mind – and lets go.

He faces both Sentinel and Megatron in Chicago, and for a klik it feels like home – the three of them bound together again. But Optimus renounced his home long ago.

Megatron peers at him with those lying red optics – optics he taught himself not to trust. No Decepticon can be trusted. Just several years ago Optimus regretted Megatron’s demise. He knows better now.

Maybe if he lets go of everything that hurts, the weight on his spark will disappear.

***

Megatron sighs in relief as Cybertron’s massive shape appears in the sky.

“Cybertron… You are saved, at last,” he murmurs and finally allows his head loll back, leaning on the half-crumbled building. The injury is throbbing with pain after Sentinel crushed his face into the wall. Megatron didn’t even try to defend himself; why bother?

He’s tired and weak, but it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that he accomplished what he had to do: Cybertron will live again. After long vorns of devastating war, after numerous losses and meaningless rage and betrayals, Megatron finally did something good.

His pride was a reasonable price. Wasn’t it?

But the human girl comes to speak to him, and her words sting more than Sentinel’s beating. Megatron is a warframe, after all; physical pain doesn’t scare him.

_That_ wound, however… That wound he buried deep and long ago, yet it takes so little to make it bleed again.

_You’ll be nothing but Sentinel’s bitch._

Megatron growls, forces his weary body up and charges into battle.

***

Optimus refuses Megatron’s peace offer and tears his head off; by this time Cybertron is already gone, collapsed into itself in the vortex of the crumbling space bridge.

Cybertron’s last Lord High Protector dies knowing that he failed to protect it in the end.

***

Optimus stands over two broken carcasses, Earth’s sky blue and clear above his head.

In his chest, an aching void is forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the hatchlings slowly die from hunger because all who knew they existed are dead.
> 
> The end.


End file.
